


Growing Pains

by articulatez



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/F, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28922325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/articulatez/pseuds/articulatez
Summary: Liara reflects on how her life and the lives of those around her have changed following the war.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Liara T'Soni
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Growing Pains

Earth was changed forever by the destruction of the Reapers and the seeds of innovation they’d sown across the galaxy. In its stead were the sentient beings left to pick up the pieces and try to build something new, in their own image this time. Devoid of the gods that created and terrorized them in a cycle finally ended by one woman and the unstoppable force that built around her might, there was only one thing left for them all to do: rebuild.

Joker rather literally set about rebuilding what he’d lost, tireless days and restless, cursing nights coaxing life back into EDI’s chassis. “One day,” Joker swore, “I will dance with her again. That’s a promise.”

“I admire your optimism,” Liara said, sitting on the other salvaged, real leather, pilot chair.

Joker’s home was outfitted in war salvage, naval airships that he couldn’t stand to leave buried and forgotten. It was his style. A full beard obscured the lower half of his face, and she suspected what it hid was a permanent half-smile.

“You take that back,” he said, wagging his pizza slice at her. It dripped melted cheese. “I’m a pessimist to the last breakable bone in my body. Say it, or I’ll throw you out!”

“Very well,” she mused, picking at the crust on her plate. “You’re a pessimist.”

She stopped by every other weekend with a cheese pizza to, as he put it, “shoot the shit.”

A smile pulled at her lips as she stepped off the Earth transport. A bus, that was what they were called. Rudimentary, slow technology, no match for trains or even bicycles if operated by hanar. Some of them made Earth home now, joining other pilgrims of other races who viewed her lover as their prophet and their savior.

She was one of those things, anyway. Liara stepped into the long-term recovery center of Toronto General Hospital and lowered her head covering. The receptionist, a pretty brunette named Iris who always wore high-necked turtlenecks and freshwater pearl earrings, started to gasp and then closed her mouth sharply.

Asari made an impression wherever they went, especially among those who admired “feminine” appearances. She supposed she could relate. She approached the desk.

“I’m here to see Shepard,” she said in her cool, crisp demeanor, the one that brokered no argument. “She’ll be expecting me.”

The receptionist blushed and dropped her gaze to her computer. “East Wing, second door on the--”

“On the right, yes,” Liara said. “Thank you, Iris.”

Leaving a bewildered human in her wake, Liara wondered if she would ever guess it was the Shadow Broker she spoke to. Some secrets were closer to her breast than others. The recovery center was filled to the gills with veterans of that last epic war, humans who came home to languish and nurse their injuries. There were soldiers, pilots, and ordinary heroes doing what was right. Emily Wong, who’d rammed a Reaper ship in an act of human bravery, had broken every bone in her body but would slowly recover thanks to her viewers, whose grateful letters kept her going as much as their donations.

On the second door on the right was Shepard’s room, and in the bed was Shepard’s inert body. Cards, holograms, balloons, and flowers beginning to wilt surrounded her on all sides, testaments of her friends’ love. The paltry hospital bedding was pulled tight to her ribs. Her freckled face was plumped with steroid medication and she breathed so peacefully it surprised Liara that this woman had struggled with nightmares. 

Some of the presents adorning her room were of a more sentimental nature: an enormous teddy bear in an N7 uniform from Kaidan; a model of a quarian ship set in an oblong, violet bottle from Tali; a replica of Medusa’s head from Salvador Dali’s _Perseus with the Head of Medusa_ that, knowing Kasumi, might not be a replica; a clay imprint of baby feet from Jacob; a pashmina scarf and cashmere gloves from Miranda sent along with an antique gun confiscated by the hospital; a package of red tape and a piece of the shrapnel that Dr. Chakwas had taken out of Garrus’s face; cross-stitch from Grunt declaring Shepard “Galaxy’s Best Krantt Leader” accompanying a careful rendition of her head and shoulders; and what looked to be every Shepard-themed toy won at a carnival from Vega.

Liara picked up a card and read: “Get the fuck better already, Shepard! You aren’t getting any younger!” On the back of the card, Jack had included a touching poem and a less touching crude drawing. She smiled and set it down, then pulled a chair closer to her beloved.

“Shepard,” she said, and took her hand. “If you don’t wake up this instant I will never forgive you.”

Shepard continued her peaceful breathing, the rise and fall of her chest, gentle exhalations fluttering her bright auburn bangs that needed a trim, as human hair was wont to grow.

“Joker says hello,” she said, caressing her fingers. Eighteen months in the hospital meant Shepard’s calluses and more carved abdominal muscles had rounded, softened, bedded down into a body meant to be lived in. “Samara reached out to me recently, as well, and said you’re invited to tea. Should I be jealous?”

Liara huffed. “Shepard, you aren’t getting out of physical therapy that easily.”

Finally, she opened her eyes and groaned. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

“No. It wasn’t.” Liara kissed her cheek. Or she meant to, but Shepard turned her head and kissed her lightly on the lips, smiling. Liara rested her head there, brow to brow and still holding her hand.

The physical therapist at the door chuckled, used to some repetition of this scene. “Should I come back in ten, or are we ready to get out of bed?”

Shepard pushed herself up into sitting and gasped, grabbing the ring hanging over her head. “No, let’s get this over with.”

“Shepard,” Liara said, rubbing her back in semicircles.

To which she bared her teeth in a reluctant grin. “I mean, yes, let’s go do painful stretches for a long time!”

Liara nodded at the physical therapist and stepped back, watching him help Shepard into the wheelchair. This was heroism more than sacrifice ever was: her struggle to heal and live and thrive.

“Our little blue daughter will be proud to have you as a mother,” she said quietly, laughing when Shepard’s head whipped around just as the chair passed the door, her jaw adorably open.

“Hey! You stay right there, I’m coming back in an hour!”

Liara lifted her gloved hand in a wave and sat on the bed, sighing at the warmth of recent body heat. Canada was cold, yet this was home while Shepard healed. So she would find warmth where she could and take pride in Shepard’s progress, this woman who had survived the war and who, not two months ago, embraced her in that very bed. Life, curious and new, stirred inside her. Shepard’s words were unnecessary. She wasn’t going anywhere.


End file.
